


Snow

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, M/M, Snow, Teen Lestrade, Teen Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 18:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John spends the night with his best friend, Sherlock.</p><p>When the boys were little it snowed and of course Greg and Mycroft got pulled into the fun</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow

John had come over to spend the night with his best friend, Sherlock. The other kids might have thought his friend was strange, but John thought he was brilliant. Well, even he had to admit that right now Sherlock was acting oddly. Even for Sherlock. He was laid back on the flood of his bedroom pretending to make snow angels in the carpet.

John stood with his hands folded across his chest. “Sherlock, you're 8, you know we don't get snow inside.”

The younger boy just poked his tongue out. Then the door went downstairs.

Sherlock scrambled to his feet and ran from his room, he dropped to his knees and crawled to the banister. John joined him.

“Who's that?” The 9 year old asked.

“That's Greg. Mycroft's boyfriend.”

The blond boy at the door leant in and grabbed Sherlock's older brother in a hug and then kissed him.

“Eeewww!” Sherlock squealed. “That's gross.”

“Sherlock, you little monster get down here,” Mycroft called up.

Sherlock started to run the opposite direction, but John stopped him. “What did you do, 'Lock?”

“I didn't do anything!” At John's look of disbelief, he asked, “What? I didn't, this time.”

Now it was Greg calling up the stairs, “You'll want to see this. It's snowing.”

John glanced at Sherlock, he was closest to the stairs so he charged down. Sherlock wasn't falling for it though.

“I'm not stupid!” He yelled down at his brother. He stood at the top of the stairs with his arms crossed.

“You are this time, 'Lock!” John yelled back. “It really is snowing!”

Mycroft grabbed John by his shirt collar.

“You'll need your coat and shoes first.”

John glanced down at his feet and wiggled his toes. “Oh yeah.”

Groaning, as if he was being really put upon, Sherlock climbed up on the banister and before his brother could stop him slid all the way to the bottom.

Mycroft gave his brother a stern look. “You know you're not supposed to do that. What would Mummy say?”

“Oh, lighten up, Myc,” Greg said grinning. “You can't tell me you never did the same thing.”

“Yes, I did.” Greg grinned, as did Sherlock. Mycroft stepped forward, grabbed his little brother and lifted him up into his arms. “You were a toddler and I slid down the stairs whilst you were sat at the bottom and it went wrong and there was blood everywhere. You cried for weeks.”

Sherlock smiled slightly, like he was trying to hide his concern for his brother, but they both knew what it really meant.

“No, you didn't cry for me, you cried because Mummy and Father insisted on both staying with me at the hospital, but they didn't want to get you a sitter as the last nanny you had got scared away by the skeleton you hung in the closet. So they forced you to come with us and made you sit in the waiting room for about 10 hours. You had never been so bored was the first thing you said to me when I woke up.”

John stopped in the process of putting on his coat. “You have a skeleton in the closet? A real one?”

Sherlock's mouth curved down in a veritable pout. “Not any more. Father insisted it be gotten rid of and Mummy agreed.”

Tossing a coat in the brown haired boy's direction, Greg shook his head. “I can't even process this conversation. Let's get outside while the snow is still falling. It might not last.”

“What do you mean 'it might not last'?” Mycroft questioned putting his brother back on two feet. “It definitely won't. It never does.”

Sherlock knew his brother was right, but seeing how disappointed John was, he had to say something. “Not this time. This time, it's going to be at least six inches deep and we'll build a snowman and a snow fort and throw snowballs.” His friend's face brightened at Sherlock's words, making him feel happy inside. “And we'll build and igloo and whoop you two in a snowball fight.”

John was still struggling with his zip when Sherlock raced passed and grabbed his hand.

Mycroft watched them go, “you've got to love their enthusiasm. As misplaced as it is.”

Greg put his arm around his boyfriend. “Maybe it's not misplaced. The weather predicted we'd only get a dusting, so it's bound to get knee high.”

Before Mycroft could point out the enormous flaw in that logic, he found himself being thoroughly kissed. It was a good thing Mummy and Father had gone out for a bit.

“You know, looking after my little monster of a brother will be a lot more enjoyable with you around.”

“He must be worse with John here.”

“No. Actually, no, he's not. John sort of exerts this force and Sherlock sort of just gets pulled along. But it works and I'm glad. I'm glad Sherlock's found someone who appreciates who he is and not the opposite.”

Greg took his boyfriend's hand and tugged him towards the door. The two younger boys were running around the yard with their heads tilted back, trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues. Well, they were until they collided with one another and landed on their butts.

“Aww, you two are so cute,” Mycroft held his hand out for Sherlock and Greg did the same for John.

 

The teenagers hadn't seen landing on the floor as an option for what happened next, but that's exactly what did happen. It ended with John on top of Greg and Mycroft on top of Sherlock.

“You're a feisty little fella,” Greg said. “How old are you?”

“9 and 3/4.” 

“And you're tough. I bet everyone's afraid of you.”

“Only the kids that pick on 'Lock.” John rolled off of him and went running again.

Mycroft stared down at his little brother, his hands pinned above his head.

“You've been getting picked on again?”

Sherlock squirmed and refused to look at the older Holmes.

“Sherlock!”

“So?”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

“Because I've worked out how you can survive at Eton.”

“How?”

“Well, we've managed to convince John's parents to let him come in September as much as I don't want to. But you'll get picked on if everyone knows I'm your brother.”

“Sherlock, I'm head prefect and I'm only 15. No one is going to pick on me. And even if they did, I'm not going to disown you when you move up, you're my kid brother, it's my job to look out for you. It always will be.”

Sherlock stuck out his tongue at Mycroft. “I can take care of myself and even if I couldn't, I'd have John.” He hopped up and ran after John.

“He's an independent sort, isn't he,” Greg commented.

“Yes, he's... umph...” Possibly the world's smallest snowball hit Mycroft between the eyes. Sherlock must have gathered snow from over ten square feet to make it.

“You little terror.” He took after the youngest of their little group and didn't stop chasing him until it began to get dark.

“Myc, I think your parents are home!” Greg yelled.

Mycroft called out, “Sherlock, John, Mummy and Father are home. It's time to go in.”

Sherlock looked at his brother, then he looked at John. Both boys broke out in grins and went running.

Mycroft's shoulders slumped and he rolled his eyes.

Greg dropped his hand on his shoulder.

“Did you of all people seriously not see that coming?”

“They say hope springs eternal.” Mycroft sighed, then added, “Come on.” They took off together in the nearing darkness.

“Where does my little brother even get his energy from? He doesn't eat. He doesn't sleep and yet he's got the same if not more energy than John, who does both in abundance.”

Sherlock had pulled his friend behind a large shrub. It was old and had a large hollow space at its interior.

John was suitability impressed. “Wow! I bet they never find us here.”

The sound of a twig breaking made both boys look up. There was enough daylight left to make out the silhouettes of the teenagers.

“Sherlock, you need more than one really cool hiding place.”

The younger brother pouted as Mycroft leant down into their little hole and pulled them both up by the collars.

“Mummy is going to go mad at the state of you two.”

Sherlock really didn't care how Mummy might react. He and John had had fun so it would be worth whatever scolding came next. And he did have more than one hiding place, but he wasn't about to tell Mycroft.

Even though he didn't particularly care what scolding came next, he guessed John would. He grabbed the older boy's hand and tugged him around the back of the house. “Please, Myc.”

Mycroft nodded at their disappearing backs.

“Mycroft Holmes! You are supposed to be looking after your brother. Were you smoking?”

“No, Mummy. Greg only just got here and he said the tyre was flat on the Range Rover. We were just fixing it. And the boys are in Sherlock's room.”

“I have been shouting up the stairs since we got home. You better not be lying to me young man.”

“I'm not, Mummy, ow!”

Greg struggled to hold in the laugh as Mrs. Holmes grabbed Mycroft by the ear and began dragging him up the stairs. For once in his life he found himself wishing Sherlock would help with this.

Mrs. Holmes dragged Mycroft into Sherlock's room to find the two boys sat at the computer with headphones on. Mycroft noticed they both had completely different clothes on than the ones they'd been playing in.

Mrs. Holmes let her son's ear go and went to the washing hamper. She wouldn't be caught out that easily. Except the hamper was empty apart from a pair of socks.

Huffing, she spun on her toe. “Dinner will be in 10 minutes. And Mycroft, I believe you have abandoned Gregory.”

Mycroft didn't bother arguing that it was her fault in the first place just nodded. “Yes, Mummy.”

When she had shut the door and Mycroft was sure she'd gone down the stairs he turned on his brother.

“What did you do with your clothes, Sherlock? You had your favourite jeans on please tell me you haven't done something stupid.”

He smiled and reached under the desk. He pulled the floorboard up where their clothes were stuffed.

“Found it ages ago.”

John looked rather proud of his friend. He looked at Greg, who was now in the open doorway. “Sherlock's brilliant!”

Greg smiled at the younger boy. “Yes, I suppose he is.” He jabbed Mycroft in the ribs. “Don't you think so, Myc?”

“I suppose,” Mycroft murmured. “When he's not being a little monster.”

Sherlock smiled at that. And he didn't know why. He never did, but that phrase always got to him. Always.

Greg tousled Sherlock's hair, then he tousled John's. “You two should come back downstairs.”

The blond boy nodded agreeably. Sherlock stuck his tongue out, but at Mycroft not Greg.

“Oi! That's my boyfriend you stuck your tongue out at,” Greg said jokingly. That earned him the same treatment.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, then took his boyfriend's hand and dragged him from the room.

“You do realise…”

“Probably.”

John laughed. “You do realise we have to somehow wash them now?”

Sherlock froze by the door. “Oh yeah.”

“It's ok, I know how to do it. Will it wake your parents if we do it tonight?”

Sherlock shrugged.

“Well, is the washer close to their bedroom?”

“I have no idea.”

John looked at him in disbelief. “You don't know where the washer is?”

“Washing clothes is boring.”

Mummy's voice rang out from down the stairs, “Sherlock, John, get down here!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “We'll ask Mycroft, he'll know.”

Sherlock took the older boy by the hand and dragged him down the stairs.

John took his place at the dinner table politely. Sherlock, in contrast, threw himself down in his chair. “Asparagus, Mummy? I hate asparagus.”

Mrs. Holmes sighed and headed back to the kitchen as Mr. Holmes took his seat. “If you eat it all, Sherlock, I'll get those clothes of yours washed.”

Sherlock and John shared glances at the eldest Holmes. Sherlock nodded just in time for his mother to reappear.

“What are you telling him to do now, Siger?”

He winked at the boys. “Oh, nothing, dearest. Just reminding him to be polite.”

Sometimes Mrs. Holmes felt hopelessly outnumbered by the sheer number of males in her life, no more so than when they plotted against her. She instinctively knew this was one of those times. “I'll just pretend I believe that.”

“It would be easier, Mummy,” Mycroft said. He kissed her on the cheek and then pulled a chair out first for Greg and then for her.

John kicked the other boy under the table, getting his attention. “That's what a gentleman does,” he pointed out.

Sherlock scowled, climbed down from his chair and then tried to pull John's out with him still sat on it.

The blond boy squawked, then burst into a fit of giggles. “You're not supposed to do it with me in the chair.”

Sherlock pouted. “It's not my fault you were sitting down already.”

John grinned at his friend and hopped out of the chair. “There, now you can do it properly.”

“Nope,” Sherlock pouted again. He pushed the chair back under and got onto his own. “Being picky is boring.”

“So says the picky eater,” Mycroft teased. He hadn't sat yet, so he walked over and pulled the chair back out with a little bow. “John.”

The blond boy giggled again, then let Mycroft help him take his seat. “Thank you, Mycroft.”

Sherlock crossed his arms and put on a sulk. Greg and the older Holmes' burst out laughing.

When dinner was over with Mycroft picked up his very for once tired little brother and threw him over his shoulder.

Their parents watched him walk away and Greg did the same with John, even if John did squeal like a girl the whole way up the stairs.

There was a surprising lack of protestation on Sherlock's part when he was tucked into bed. John's influence, no doubt. Mycroft paused in the doorway, looking at the two sleepy little boys, feeling oddly sentimental. Greg reached around him and flicked off the light.

“Your brother and John might be a handful, but they're cute when they're all knackered.”

Mycroft looked over his shoulder at him, the light from the hallway flickering over his face. “What about me? Am I all cute too?”

The look Greg gave him was fond and slightly teasing. “Nope, definitely not cute.” He glanced at the two little boys and leaned in to whisper in Mycroft's ear. “You're fucking sexy.”

Apparently the boys were still awake and he hadn't been quiet enough. Sherlock started making a gagging sound and John buried his head under his covers.

“Gregory! Naughty, naughty. You two do not repeat that.” He pointed at each of the boys in turn.

“I won't repeat it if you give me something in return.”

“Nice one, Greg, he'll be bribing us for my chemistry set now.”

“Oh no,” Sherlock reached off the edge of his bed and snagged John's hand, where he was lying on the sofa bed. He pulled him up with him.

“It can't do any harm. They're not even at proper school yet,” Greg pointed out.

Mycroft shrugged. “Yeah. Fine.”

John burrowed under Sherlock's covers and pulled his mop of hair to his chest.

Greg gave Mycroft's hand a tug and they left the boys behind, closing the door quietly.

John's eyes had been shut for only a moment when Sherlock commented, “We should be able to sneak back out now.”

“Later, 'Lock. I'm sleepy.”

“But the snow...”

“Will still be there in the morning. Night.”

Well, technically, it would be morning at 12:00. Sherlock could wait that long.

Sherlock watched his wall clock tick over 9pm and he was starting to get sleepy too. He could hear John's soft snores matching his heartbeat and that rhythm made him drift off to sleep.

When he was next aware John was rocking him, trying to wake him up.

“What?” he murmured.

“It's gone 8. Look out the window.”

Sherlock moaned again, but rolled out of bed, he had been right. Snow. A lot of snow. “We've got to get Mycroft.”

“I'll go for Greg.” John turned to head in the other direction, but Sherlock grabbed his pyjama sleeve. “I doubt Greg even made it to his bed last night.”

Sherlock kicked his brother's door open and then charged into the room. He'd been right the two teenagers were in bed together. They both climbed on top of them and jumped up and down.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft complained.

“Mycroft!” Sherlock shot back at him. “What will Mummy say?”

“Mummy won't say anything, because Mummy isn't going to know.”

“She will unless you and Greg help us build a snowman.”

“That's blackmail, baby brother.”

“Yes, it is, Myc,” Greg said, laughing.  He dislodged John and shoved at Mycroft's shoulder. “It's a good thing your parents' bedroom is at the other end of the house.”

“Hang on,” Mycroft back tracked a moment. “Snowman?” He picked Sherlock up and dumped him onto Greg with an 'umph'. He pulled his curtains back. “You were right Sherlock, it really did set.”

Greg picked up Sherlock and dumped him next to John. He peered over his boyfriend's shoulder. “Wow! You're not kidding. C'mon Myc. There's a snowman waiting to be built.”

Mycroft protested, feeling obligated to do so, but secretly, he was pleased. Maybe for a little while, he'd pretend to be a kid. Greg didn't seem to have a problem doing that as he was already racing the younger boys down the stairs, ignoring Mycroft's protests.

“Em… Gregory Lestrade, if you step out that door without first ensuring my little brother and his friend are suitably dressed you will not see me for the rest of the day.”

Greg shared a commiserating look with the two boys. “You heard the grouch. Layer up, then we'll go out.”

“You too, Gregory.”

“Yes, Mummy.”

Greg folded his arms and stared at his boyfriend. Mycroft marched down the stairs, grabbed Sherlock, and lifted him so he was in a piggyback position. “Hold on you, little tyke.” Then he grabbed Greg and John's hand tugging them back up the stairs.

It didn't take long to dress. The boys pulled on layer after layer. Sherlock sniffed when John pulled on a beige jumper. “You look like my grandfather in that thing.”

John protested, “What? It's warm.”

He turned back to his suitcase that he hadn't been bothered to unpack and pulled a similar one over Sherlock's head.

“And now you'll be warm, too.” He smiled.

“Wellies, boys,” Mycroft called after them. They both sighed, turned back into the room and pulled out matching sets.

Coats and gloves were the finishing touches, then the boys were off and running.

“Someone should nail their feet to the floor,” Greg observed.

“Nope. Then we'd have to deal with Sherlock's whining. Ooph!” The side of Mycroft's head exploded with snow. He looked up to see the two boys seeking shelter behind the old oak tree, both wielding snowballs.

“We appear to be at war, Myc. Come on.” He grabbed his boyfriend's hand and pulled him behind a tree in the opposite direction. “I'm assuming you're a good aim?”

“Naturally.”

“Then I'll make up the ammunition.” Greg started making snowballs one after another in rapid succession. Mycroft volleyed them in the boys’ direction.

“Wait,” Greg put his hand on the older boys arm. “If we pretend we're rubbish their confidence will grow.”

“And then they'll come out from their hiding point.”

“And they'll be sitting ducks.”

The next several volleys in the boys’ direction went well wide of their marks. John proclaimed the teens aim to be rubbish, but Sherlock wasn't so certain. He suspected a trap. “Your aim is better than mine, John. I'll see if I can lure them out and you let them have it.” Without waiting for an answer, he dashed from behind their cover.

“What is my brother playing at?”

“You question things too much.”

“I question everything that's concerning my brother. It's either too good to be true or incredibly insane.”

“You said he's never been good at sports. Is snowballing a sport?”

“He's bait,” Mycroft supplied. “And you know the only thing you can do with bait?” He asked a little louder.

“No.”

“Eat it!” He yelled, he charged after Sherlock, and the younger brother didn't get a chance to get very far. Mycroft grabbed him and threw him into the closest snow drift.

He came up coughing and spluttering but laughing all the same.

Laughing along with his brother, he didn't notice the dual attack of John and Greg. Soon he too had been tumbled head first into the same snow drift. He came up sputtering and trying to look indignant, but it was spoiled by the snow clinging to his eyebrows and lashes and the humorous gleam in his eyes.

He shared a knowing smile with his brother and they pounced, all four of them tumbling in the snow.

“Boys!” Came a yell. They all froze where they were and looked up to see Mrs. Holmes, leaning from the bedroom window. “What are you playing at?”

“Lighten up, Violet!”

A glance at the front door showed Mr. Holmes, his coat wrapped around him and his own wellies on.

“I made them put their coats on, Mummy!”

Mrs. Holmes had gone though. She appeared behind her husband at the door.

“Even all layered up, you'll still get chilled to the bone. I'll give you just 15 more minutes, then you're coming inside. There'll be hot cocoa with marshmallows waiting.” With that, she gave Siger a push through the door and closed it behind him.

“Oh, and boys, if we go round the back of the estate, she'll never find us.”

The four laughed and scrambled to their feet, taking off after Mr. Holmes through the snow.

The snow was the best kind, it wasn't dry and powdery, but wet and sticky so it made the best snowballs. Sherlock was busily demonstrating that fact.

Though Mr. Holmes was easier going than Violet, he glared down Sherlock saying, “That snowball had best be the beginnings of a snowman's bottom.”

“What if it isn't?”

“Then, you little munchkin, I'll lock you in the study and you can do your winter homework instead of playing out here.”

Sherlock pouted.

“Now you and John start rolling that around until it's enormous. Greg, you do the middle. My, you do the head. I'll find what we need for the arms and face.”

As soon as Mr. Holmes turned his back, four snowballs went flying. All at him. He turned around and folded his arms. All four boys were facing the other direction whistling innocently.

“Who plotted that?” He bent down and began making his own.

Mycroft could see his baby brother was about to cop it big time. “It was me, Dad-” Mycroft cut off at the snowball in the face.

All hell broke loose, snowballs flying in every direction. But what caught Siger by surprise and made the boys all stop and gape was when an enormous snowball came out of nowhere and clocked him in the back of the head with enough force to send him sprawling.

Mrs. Holmes was stood there all bundled up and looking enormously smug. “Who says boys can have all the fun?”

“No one, dear,” he assured her.

The teams were set, but for some reason Greg had gravitated towards John and Mycroft had gravitated towards Sherlock.

Mycroft wasn't sure what sort of a mood he was likely to put his boyfriend in if he hit him so the four of them ganged up on the married couple already gathering their own ammunition.

It turned out to be a slaughter and finally Mr. and Mrs. Holmes raised their hands in surrender. Sherlock was busy dancing in triumph and Mycroft was watching him affectionately.

Greg caught John's eye and beckoned him over. “Help me pelt Mycroft?”

John nodded and grinned broadly. “Yeah.”

Mycroft ended up on the floor with the quick cannon fire of snowballs.

“Hey! No one picks on my big brother and gets away with it.” He charged at Greg and the strength of his run up put the teenager on his arse.

John stood chuckling.

“Oi! You pelted him too.” He got back to his feet and took off after John. It didn't take long for the younger boy to catch him up and get him on the ground too. Giggling the whole time.

John wriggled, trying to get away. He ended up on his belly as a handful of snow was shoved beneath his jumper. He would have denied it, but he squealed like a girl.

It was like he was vibrating as he shook like a dog. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's foot and the younger boy tripped, sprawling into the snow.

Mycroft watched them fondly, honestly glad Sherlock had found someone he seemed to just click with. The hand on his shoulder seemed to remind him he had too.

This time, when Mummy called for them all to go inside, they were glad to go. They were all cold and played out and ready for the promised hot cocoa. It had been a good morning.

“Siger, pancakes.”

“Of course.”

He set up the mixture as the older boys began helping the younger ones struggle out of their soggy clothes and Mrs. Holmes threw it all in the tumble dryer.

“And you boys can run through the shower real quick too, just to warm up a bit. John, dear, you first, then Sherlock, Greg, and Mycroft.”

The teens hustled the boys up the stairs and through the shower one at a time, then ran them along to get dressed and back downstairs.

On the way back down, Sherlock whispered to John in a knowing manner, “I bet they shower together.”

John made a face, but didn't say anything.

When they both came down together at the same time in half the time it should have taken them both boys knew Sherlock had been right.

Mr. Holmes glanced over his shoulder, also knowing what they'd been up to.

“I'll just say this once boys,” Mrs. Holmes said to the teens, “Whatever you're doing, be safe about it. End of lecture.” She placed plates with stacks of pancakes in front of each teen and then handed them each the promised cocoa.

Both Mycroft and Greg were blushing furiously. John and Sherlock slid under the table giggling.

“Mummy! I'm only 15.”

“And I'm only 14.”

“That's nothing, I met your father at that age. Sherlock, John, where do you think you're going?”

They had literally disappeared beneath the table.

The two younger boys climbed out from under the table.

“They were snogging, Mummy. They snog all the time. It's disgusting.”

John shoved a bite of pancake into his mouth to keep from laughing.

“Well, I'm sure when you two rug rats grow up you'll be doing it too.”

The boys shared glances. John blew a raspberry whilst Sherlock proudly declared. “Nope! Not happening!”

“What the growing up or the kissing?”

Together, the boys said, “Neither!”

“That'll change, boys, that'll change,” observed Mr. Holmes. He remembered feeling just the same.

“Oh, come on Dad, don't say you wouldn't exchange your life to go back and do it all over again.”

Mr Holmes walked around his son and ruffled his auburn hair before resting his hand on his shoulder and squeezing slightly.

“Of course I wouldn't. I wouldn't change you two for anything.” He looked over at Sherlock who was trying to hide his blush in his pancakes.

Mycroft had turned an interesting shade of pink too. Greg squeezed his hand. “Neither would I.”

John wiped his mouth with his napkin as he cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. I know it's horribly rude of me to ask, but...” He looked to Sherlock for support, they had talked about this earlier. “Could I stay one more night?”

“In fact, it doesn't matter what you say, Mummy. He's staying forever.”

The rest of the group, including John, laughed.

“We'd have to phone your dad.”

“Go ahead, he won't mind.” John was practically bouncing in his chair from excitement. “And I packed extra clothes, just in case. And did you really get rid of the skeleton that was in the closet because I would have liked to see it?”

“We got rid of the real one. But I suppose Sherlock can have one of his birthday presents early.”

“It's your birthday?”

“Next week,” he grumbled. “Boring.”

John's mouth fell open. “Birthdays are not boring. There's presents and cake and friends.”

“You're my only friend.”

John didn't let that dampen his enthusiasm. “Well, this year there will be presents and cake and me.”

“And me,” Greg added.

See, you have two friends.”

“Is there rules about brothers not being friends?” Sherlock looked up at him, frowning slightly.

“Yes, little monster, I'm your friend and always will be.”


End file.
